Impressions and Consequences
by EchoRose480
Summary: When Merlin enters Camelot for the first time in a way that wasn't expected nor desired, will prince Arthur, who has offered to train him in combat, find out something incredible about his new friend? Merlin AU. NO slash. Whump, later on. Reveal fic, though not in the way you would expect. Rated T, as a safety net. Mystery, Drama, Humor, Adventure. ;D (On hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: OK, for those who are following me, know that I am _not _slacking on My Demons Lay in Wait. This just came to me when I was on the road in South Dakota, and I thought I'd write it down. :

Prologue

Merlin tried to readjust the strap on his shoulder to relieve the ache that had made house and home there. While he did this, he heard the call of an unfamiliar bird, and glanced up into the treetops to see if he could spot it. When he didn't watch where he was going, his foot caught on a root that was so conveniently placed in his path, and he fell forward onto his face. Just as he did so, he heard a loud twanging sound, and felt a whoosh of whistling air, followed by a sharp pain on the back of his head. He cried out as he hit the ground, but spat out the leaves and twigs in his mouth because of it.

"Damn," he muttered, and wasn't surprised to feel a bit of blood trickle down his forehead from what must have been an arrow grazing his scalp. Okay, he was being attacked. Not an issue, if he stayed calm. He yelped as another arrow embedded itself in the dirt a few inches from his face. He scrambled back from the offending weapon, in a rather undignified manner if he was honest with himself, and realized that staying calm might be a bit harder than he had anticipated. Just his luck. Camelot, his soon to be new home, was only about a day away, and he was going to die before seeing its towers. Great, just great. He was going to be found by some traveling circus people, and they'd use his body as a puppet in their show, and his mother would finally find out about his death when they reached Ealdor and did their performance, and then…

Merlin shook his head vigorously and hurried to his feet, leaping to hide behind the trunk of a nearby tree, feeling this was a completely inadequate means of safety. Maybe he _should_ have given in a little bit and bought a dagger. Then again, that probably wouldn't help against a bow and arrow. Unless, of course, he learned how to throw it. He'd have to look into that when he wasn't in a life or death situation.

Suddenly, his would be murderer burst into sight. He was a very large man, with tree-trunk thighs and, most likely, a propensity for skull crushing. He snarled and raised the comically small bow, compared to his size, and let loose another arrow in Merlin's direction. Merlin ducked back behind the tree and yelled out,

"Oi! I don't have any money," which was true, "and there's nothing I have of worth," which was…less true. The bandit reached behind to the makeshift quiver on his back, and growled when he found no more arrows there. Merlin sighed a bit in relief, but immediately ceased when the man glared daggers at him. The man roared and advanced against Merlin, obviously frustrated he'd used up all his weaponry on this supposed weakling. Really, Merlin wasn't _that _skinny.

He felt a charge of fear surge through him, and turned to run when he realized that this man's legs were worth two of his, so he opted for a different approach. He sprung upwards, grabbing the lowest branch of the tree, and began climbing upwards at a squirrel's pace. The man bellowed in outrage as he reached the base of the tree. Merlin was far above the ground now, and knew he was safe as long as the bandit remained the same size and would break the branches if he tried to climb up.

"You filthy whelp!" the man yelled. Merlin pouted,

"Now, that's not very nice. I bathe regularly," he whined, "Granted, mostly in a river and without soap, but that's not exactly my fau-"

"Shut up!"

Merlin did. From his position about fifteen feet above the man's head, he could see that his hair was very stringy and decidedly oily. Eww, like this guy was one to talk about filthy? Merlin decided to name him Greasy. Greasy glared up at him, then grinned, displaying a fine set of yellow stubs,

"No matter. I'll just wait till ya get 'ungry," he sniffed, as if smelling a roast, "then I'll 'ave my fun with ya," Merlin couldn't hold back a silent gulp. The man chuckled gratingly, then settled himself into a seated position against the trunk.

Okay, maybe Camelot would have to wait a little bit longer.

…...

A/N: Sooooo, what did ya think? Should I continue, and make it a full story? If I do, it'll be a while before the next update. :) Reviews are very much so appreciated, and longed for with an insatiable desire. ;D


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, before you read on, just wanted to give you fair warning. This is not just a what-if story, this is a full blown AU. A lot of things are going to be different, though there will be the same characters. There will be lots of BAMF Merlin and Arthur ahead, and there is a plot. I'm not sure how long this story is going to be, but i'm guessing fairly long, because I kinda wanna make it like a TV series, only not. Alright, I'm done, read on!

...

Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped, and Merlin found the sound extremely annoying. Not in and of itself, of course, but because of what it signified: the extraneous amount of hours he'd been cramping his behind on this bloody branch. Merlin glanced down from for the thousandth time that night, and sighed as he, for the thousandth time, saw Greasy still comfortably seated against the trunk of the tree. Merlin tucked his hands between his thighs to warm them and suppressed a shiver. He huffed a bit and shifted forward, relieving his lower back of the pressure created by a knob of wood on the tree behind him, for a moment.

Really, this wasn't how he'd imagined his trip to Camelot to go. He'd thought there would be a bit more…well, maybe a little bit _less_ hiding from oily bandits in trees with an extreme _lack_ of soft bark.

There hadn't exactly been waving flags and trumpets to send him off to his new, glamorous life when he left Ealdor, but he _had_ felt excited. _Had _being the key word here, of course. Now he was cold, cramped, unarmed and cowering from a very hairy, well, man, for lack of a better word.

Suddenly, a sound like an avalanche of dying pigs filled the air. Merlin, thinking Greasy had let loose another one, and having received the brunt of the impact for the whole of the evening, quickly pulled his neckerchief over his mouth and nose and breathed shallowly. Surprisingly, there was no foul smell of something dead…rotting under a pile of fresh feces…steeped in vinegar and-

The sound ripped through the night again, and Merlin looked down and realized that what he'd been hearing wasn't stubbornly releasing gas, but a snore. A horrendous sounding snore, but a snore, nonetheless. Merlin felt that snore fan the little glimmer of hope in the pit of his stomach. Okay, this was his chance. He might die, but it was better than collapsing out of the tree from food deprivation and suffering the wrath of the criminally stinky man without putting up a fight. If he could just make it onto Greasy's back, he may be able to cut off his airflow and knock him out long enough to make a swift escape. It was a stupid plan, he knew, but beggars can't be choosers. And losers can't be winners, his brain offered helpfully. Merlin told it to shut up.

Being careful to make as little sound as possible, Merlin struggled to a standing position on the ominously creaking wood. Please, please, please don't break, he implored the shaky limb.

He had one shot at this.

Unfortunately, the tree seemed to harbor no sympathy for this fact, and with one evil, crunching sound, the branch broke away from the tree, and they both went tumbling downward. Merlin cried out in pain as his arm was smacked against something, probably another branch. And then he landed, right on top of Greasy.

He supposed it could have been a more graceful landing as he sort of bounced off the man and went sprawling to the floor. Well, at least his fall was broke.

Merlin temporarily had the wind knocked out of him, and he coughed into the dirt a few times before remembering the urgency of his situation and scrambling to his feet. Well, maybe scrambling wasn't the right word. Worming?

Greasy lay stunned on the ground, but was coming to. Fast. A raw surge of panic rose up inside of Merlin, and he searched desperately for something, anything…Aha!

Merlin rushed over and plucked the sizable branch up from the forest floor where it had landed after the fall. Without really thinking on it, Merlin rushed forward to the squirming, now on his knees figure. He lifted with both hands and brought the branch down with a resounding crack on the man's oily head. Greasy slumped instantly to the ground, unconscious.

Merlin stood there for a minute, breathing hard and realizing he'd managed what he wanted. Then, the adrenaline faded and he sighed, thrusting the make-shift weapon onto the ground. Merlin glared down at the prone form,

"I win," he said, and probably didn't sound as intimidating as he imagined.

….

After some careful deliberation that lasted about five seconds, Merlin decided to bind Greasy's hands and feet…and legs and arms and thighs and anything else he could before he, regretfully, ran out of rope. Merlin and Will used to do that when they were kids, collect rope. Because, as everyone knows, rope is just about the most fun toy a child can have, and Merlin wasn't exposed to a plethora of toys. By the time they were sixteen, they decided the hobby should be put behind them, and they'd split the collection in half. Merlin hated to put it on such a sweaty, hairy hulk of a human being, but it wasn't as if he had a lot of choice.

After making sure that Greasy wouldn't be able to cause him bodily harm when he woke, Merlin had sat down against a tree trunk and contemplated his next move. He considered leaving Greasy here to stew in his own filth. But then he realized that other travelers passing through here might suffer the same terror Merlin had been lucky enough to suffer through. Very smelly terror. Greasy would break through that rope eventually, and Merlin would rather he didn't. But this wasn't really what made Merlin decide. All he knew, was that Greasy had tried to shoot him through the head with and arrow before even trying to steal from him. He wasn't just a bandit, he was a murderer.

Merlin couldn't let him stay here to practice this profession. And, though he hated his own guts for it, Merlin knew what he had to do. Greasy was going to be tried in the courts of Camelot. Merlin looked down disdainfully at the bulky man,

"Looks like I'm not traveling as light as I'd hoped,"

….

"I'm thirsty." Greasy said.

"That's too bad."

"I'm 'ungry."

"You're fat."

"I'm cold."

"You'll survive."

"I hate you."

"Me too. Shut up."

The conversations between Merlin and his prisoner went on pretty much like this for the rest of the day. Truth was, Merlin preferred Greasy unconscious. The man was like some noble princess, extremely whiny. Not that Merlin had ever met a noble princess, but still. Merlin was tired and hungry himself, having run out of food the day before. He hadn't worried about it then because he'd planned on getting to Camelot sooner. Now that he was being slowed down by a stupid bandit, he wasn't going to get there until tomorrow.

Merlin led Greasy along by a length of rope, the rest of which bound the man. Greasy may have attacked him anyway, except for the fact that Merlin had taken his bow and arrows, and also a knife he'd found on the man's buckle.

Oh, God he could smell him from over _here_.

…..

Merlin played with the string of the bow, plucking it and listening to the tuneless hum that rang through the air because of it. Greasy was glaring daggers and balls of fire at him from his place on the other side of the fire, but he was tied up and Merlin wasn't so Merlin couldn't quite bring himself to care. He was feeling irritable, to say the least. He would be in Camelot the next morning, but it seemed a small consolation for the time he would still have to spend with his captive. Greasy was tied up and being refused food, but Merlin still felt like he was getting the bad end of the deal.

The night was silent save for the crackling of the fire, and Merlin's own breathing. That was, until Greasy finally fell asleep, and his snores sounded off. Merlin sighed and settled into his ratty cloak a bit more, drawing it around himself against the cold. He looked over at the prone form of his prisoner with contempt. He knew he couldn't sleep, for fear of Greasy catching him off guard in the middle of the night.

Just then, said oily robber snored so loudly Merlin's bones rattled at the sound. He groaned.

Great, he thought, a way to keep me awake.

….

Arthur listened to the sound of the string going taut, the wood of the bow creaking as he drew back the arrow. He breathed in deeply through his nose and was aware of every muscle and sinew in his entire body, everything coiled and positioned and ready to let go. He could see the animal in his sights, amongst the shrubs and trees. The boar was sniffing at the ground, and Arthur was completely still. The knights behind him were silent as a grave, as they were trained. Arthur's finger brushed against a leaf, and he relished at the adrenaline rushing through his veins. This was the moment that he pined for during those long hours as a prince. Fresh air, no politics. Just him, immersing himself in the natural ritual of predator and prey.

He let the breath out slowly, through his mouth, and began to release the arrow.

"Will you just _shut up_!"

Arthur jumped at the sudden sound, and his aim was thrown off by just a fraction.

But it was enough.

A flying arrow that should have slain the bore instantly, through the heart, was protruding from its shoulder. The beast squealed in pain and rage, and scrambled around. Arthur felt his heart skip as the animal stopped moving, and set its sights right. On. Him.

Oh…crap.

The boar charged, and Arthur screamed at his men even as he jumped to his feet and sprinted,

"Run! Into the trees, go, go, go!" The knights complied, struggling to ascend the nearby trees in a mad frenzy. Arthur found the closest one and leapt up to the nearest branch, almost flying upwards, his heart pounding against his chest as he heard the boar right beneath him, snorting and squealing and stamping around in frustration. Arthur sighed in relief, as he settled on a branch, and looked downward. Now, they would just have to wait for the huge thing to bleed out.

But then, his stomach plummeted. Two more figures burst into sight. Arthur barely had time to register that one was tied up and the other leading the one tied up, before the boar's hackles rose, and it charged. Crap. Crap. Crap. Arthur thought as he fumbled for his bow which he had managed to sling behind his back sometime in the chaos. The voice that had startled Arthur burst from the smaller figure as he saw the attacking animal,

"Oh, hell!" Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. Arthur fitted an arrow on the string and pulled it back to his ear, aiming carefully at the blurry, black beast. Taking only a second, he then let loose the arrow. It whistled through the air, and sunk straight into the eye of the boar, just as it was a yard away from the two men. The boar made a terrible sound of pain, and fell to the ground, tumbling over itself from the momentum. It twitched for a few moments, then lay still. Dead.

Arthur sighed in relief, and took a moment to breathe, before descending from the tree, not surprisingly slower than he'd climbed it. As the adrenaline faded along with the fear, it was replaced with anger. He hit the ground and didn't hesitate to rush forward to the two men he'd just saved.

He walked straight to the smaller of the two, fuming and struggling not to act violently. He stopped right in front of the man, who, Arthur realized with satisfaction, was almost a head shorter than him,

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled. The man, no, boy, glared defiantly at him, and Arthur was a bit taken aback,

"I didn't know you were here. I'm sorry," his words were polite, but his voice was hostile. Arthur snorted and stepped back a bit, crossing his arms and taking the time to scrutinize the two of them.

The man tied up was enormous, his hair was stringy and hanging lank in his face, which was twisted into a deep scowl. He wore old, plain clothes, though his boots were sturdy and expensive, and a gold chain hung from his neck. Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that some of those might not be his own. Arthur tried not to wrinkle his nose at the fumes coming off the man.

He then turned his gaze back to the boy leading him. He was thin, the kind of thin that can only come from experiencing harsh poverty more than once. He wore ill-fitting clothes, and a neckerchief. He was very pale, which contrasted starkly with his jet black hair and stormy blue eyes. He had a slightly rumpled look, his hair out at odd ends and dark circles under his eyes. He stood straight, looking Arthur directly in the eye, unabashed and almost…irritated. This, more than anything, caught Arthur's attention.

Well, being the prince, he couldn't just let the sight of one man leading another by rope through the woods, be left unchecked. He heard his knights approach up behind him, and their presence boosted him to take his next step,

"What is your business in Camelot, boy?" he asked. The boy's eyes sparked with anger, and he barely spared a glance for the burly men at Arthur's back before speaking, his voice dripping with suppressed frustration and suspicion,

"I don't see how that's your business," he said. Arthur scoffed scornfully,

"I believe it is. Slave trading is illegal in this kingdom," he said. The boy scrunched his brow, looking confused, and than the light dawned in his eyes and he yelled incredulously,

"I'm not selling him! He robbed and tried to kill me," the boy yanked at the rope emphatically, and Arthur had trouble not believing him, he looked so aghast.

"_Really_?" Arthur said, still not finished, "How did _you_ overpower _him_," Arthur inclined his head at each in turn. This time, the boy seemed to go a bit white with fury. Arthur was highly amused, and maybe even a bit…impressed? He suspected the boy didn't know he was the prince, but still. Arthur had three men and a bow at his back, but the boy didn't look very afraid. At all.

"Listen your high arse pratness," the boy spat, "I haven't eaten or slept in near forty-eight hours, the time of which I've spent being nearly impaled, mauled by a rampaging boar, and pierced through the skull with this stinking dreg's arrow," he yanked again on the cord, ignoring the sound of the prisoner's protests, "So, thank you so much for your assistance. But, if you don't mind, I would like to bring him to justice swiftly, so that I may get on with my life," Arthur raised his eyebrows quizzically at the boy's outburst, and realized his mouth was hanging slightly slack. Regaining his composure, he took a moment to think. The behavior from the boy was…curious. But he seemed honestly upset. Arthur pondered what he had said, glanced once more at the bound man, and then nodded slowly,

"Alright, then. But this man's guilt must be proven in the courts of Camelot. My men and I will escort you,"

…

Merlin might have put up more of a fight, or more of a front, but, logically speaking, he _could_ be beaten to death by this blonde prat and whoever his cronies were. All Merlin knew was that he was bone tired and skinny, and these men were wide awake and beefy.

Really, what else was there _to_ know?

He resigned himself to his fate, and as he walked through the forest, still pulling along the giant behind him, flanked from behind by the henchmen, and Prat in front of him, he couldn't help but feel a bit anxious. What if they didn't believe him? What if Greasy got away, and Merlin was sentenced to death? What if they hung him, chopped his head off, burned him slowly in a vat of hot oil…?

Dear God, what is that?

Merlin's jaw fell open as he saw the white, formidable towers of Camelot, with their waving red and gold flags proudly flapping in the wind above the treetops. Merlin saw the battlements, the thick, white, granite walls and the dozens of sentries pacing stiffly along the top with their gleaming swords and crossbows…

It was…magnificent.

It was no secret that Camelot didn't welcome magic. In fact, the king, Uther, purposefully spread stories of the numerous executions he'd overseen of sorcerers, enchantresses, etcetera.

And as Merlin gazed at the power and strength so obvious in the city, he found himself feeling immensely relieved.

Merlin had never been so grateful to not have magic.

...

I know, I know, but I did warn you. AU, remember? Okay, Merlin's not a muggle, I promise, but...he doesn't have to know that. ;) At least, not yet. Hope your liking it! This didn't turn out quite as nicely as I would have liked, but hopefully the next chap will make me happier. :) More Merlin and Arthur interactions coming up. This is gonna be fun...for me at least, but hopefully foe you, too! Tell me if you still want me to continue! **Reviews!**


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